Stitch Up
by BabalooBlue
Summary: Even House knows that two wrongs don't make a right but when opportunity comes knocking, you answer the door. Set in Season 3, shortly before 'Airborne'. COMPLETE
1. Opportunity Comes Knocking

_**Shout-out to Visitkarte who kindly provided the inspiration here.**_  
><em><strong>And thank you, as always, to maineac for betaing.<strong>_

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><p><strong>When Opportunity Comes Knocking...<strong>

They had been lucky that Princeton General had taken all the passengers from the school bus. Tire blew on the on-ramp and the bus had careened right into oncoming traffic, after crashing through the guardrails.

House imagines the ER full of screaming kids and their hysterical parents – and shudders. As it is, they have ended up dealing with the emergency personnel, some of whom had been injured during the rescue operation. Apparently the bus had landed on its roof and some idiots compounded the situation by getting themselves injured while searching the wreckage for missing kids.

House sighs.

If it weren't for those morons, he would still be sitting in his office, taking a nap. It had taken them 22 hours to figure out the time bomb that had been their last patient, and yes, he had been counting. He hasn't been home in two days, but he has to wait for a ride with Wilson. That time wasted in the ER could have been well spent sleeping.

As it is, there are less than two dozen injured rescue people to deal with but Cuddy had hauled him down to the ER anyway. For about half an hour he had managed to ignore the page, but Cuddy wasn't stupid and finally walked up personally to make sure he did what she considered to be his job.

She did still own his ass after she had perjured herself on his behalf, and she would continue to do so for a long time, that much was certain. While he hadn't exactly underestimated the seriousness of those charges, he had hoped they would go away somehow if he just stubbornly ignored them. And go away they did, but only after Cuddy had been willing to put her career on the line for him. Now she had registered him for a conference in Singapore in two weeks' time so he could work off his debt. He had tried to pull out of it claiming he couldn't handle such a long flight but she completely ignored any objections, however true they were.

So here he was now, stitching up idiots who cut themselves on the shattered glass or sprained an ankle while climbing around in the bus. Sometimes he wondered how little brainpower it really took to survive.

Thankfully they have Chase and a senior nurse doing triage. Chase knows better than to send him any time wasters. Unfortunately, the nurse is new and doesn't know him from Adam, so he has to deal with whatever she sends his way.

He takes a short bathroom break, swallows two Vicodin and then goes to grab the next chart. With any luck it will be his last for today and he can get out of here.

"Tritter, Michael D."

Holy shit. No way he would be lucky enough that there were two people with that particular name in Princeton, no way.

He looks around but everyone else appears busy; Cameron is bandaging some woman's arm, and Wilson has pulled the short straw earlier and landed with someone who complained about severe headaches after Chase had already cleared him. He can't expect any help from Wilson; he is nowhere to be seen, probably off to arrange a CT for his patient.

So he takes a deep breath and resolves to keep calm. Surprise should be on his side; surely Tritter won't expect him either.

He draws back the curtain to the cubicle.

"Detective. Long time no see. What have we got?" His cheerfulness rings false, even to his own ears. He pulls over a stool and takes a quick look at the chart, just to gain some time. Tritter looks as surprised as he is. Deer caught in headlights. "Superficial laceration to the left temple, nothing serious. Bleeds like a bitch, though, right? Definitely needs stitches."

"I want another doctor."

Tritter isn't exactly shouting but his voice will definitely carry over into the next cubicle. It's clear that he won't take any shit today, not from anyone, least of all House.

House takes a good long look at the man before him. At first glance he appears like any other patient, sitting there on the exam table, with his head bent to the side to avoid getting even more blood on his shirt. But House has learned his lesson, Tritter is not a man to be trifled with. He is vindictive and a bully. While the exterior is still impressive, House also recognizes something else underneath: The man is exhausted and in pain. Not excruciating pain but even a little pain, if it lasts long enough, will make anyone crabby and bitchy. And impatient.

So he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. He won't take the bait. Not this time. "That's your prerogative, Detective. I have to tell you, though, that we're working at capacity here and everyone is busy. There's currently nobody else available. Of course, you're free to wait for however long it'll take until someone else can see you."

Tritter says nothing for a while, just glares at him from behind the wad of tissues he is holding against his head. If this is a stand-off, it's unclear who is going to come out of this ahead.

"House… you better make sure this is done right." The threat in his voice is unmistakable.

House completely ignores him, and instead carefully pulls back the tissue to take a look at the wound. He had been right; this is a joke. Three stitches at the most. Anyone else he might even go with butterfly stitches alone. But with this patient he is better off playing it safe. Don't want to risk the wound not closing up properly and getting infected. Thinking for a second, he turns over the chart to check who made the initial notes in triage. Chase. He should have guessed.

Just then Tritter interrupts his musings. "House, if you're high, there will be consequences. You better be clean. Any funny business and I'll have your ass on a platter."

He finally looks up and returns Tritter's icy stare for a moment. Memories of that first encounter are flashing through his mind: the verbal sparring, the humiliation and his own reckless reaction – almost like a reflex. The setting had been so similar to this one. Inspiration hits a second later.

"Detective, I have no intention of doing anything other than my job here, rest assured. All patients are treated equal, you don't need to worry."

Without further ado, he starts cleaning the wound. Even though he is gentle with the swab, Tritter's eyes nearly pop when the antiseptic hits. To his credit, he doesn't utter a sound, though.

"Hm," House straightens up and puts the swabs aside. "About five to eight stitches, I'd say. We'll see as we go along.

"A little lidocaine to numb the area… you'll feel just a slight pinch."

In goes the needle, and House administers the anesthetic. Afterwards he busies himself with cleaning up the area a bit, just to let the lidocaine take some effect. Not to drag it out too long, though, he gets the suture kit ready.

"House," Tritter grinds out after House first pierces the skin, "are you sure you've used the right dose?"

He is clearly close to exploding. House doesn't bat an eye. "Of course I have, Detective, the dosage is calculated correctly. I've double-checked. All in order. And now you'll need to hold still."

He continues with his work.

Nice and slow.

Or rather, slow.

It takes another two minutes for Tritter to talk again, in between the grunts and moans he is trying to suppress. "That can't be right, House, because I can still feel everything. I need more anesthetic!"

House straightens up and looks Tritter right in the eye. "I'm very sorry, Detective, but I can't give you any more. Guidelines are guidelines, and we're under strict instructions not to give in to drug-seeking behavior. Actually, by rights I should be reporting you. I really can't be seen bending the rules again – you know that I'm still under close scrutiny for everything I do. My boss is keeping a close eye on me now. And she's such a stickler for rules."

He turns back to his work in progress. In goes the needle. Tritter grunts. "So, you see, as much as I'd like to, I can't up your dosage."

Sending a silent thank you to Chase, he continues with his masterpiece.


	2. A Little Something to Remember Me By

**A Little Something to Remember Me By**

Of course the CT had revealed nothing. But whether or not the guy was a scammer or just a whiner, you can never be too careful if there is even the slightest chance of a head injury. And James Wilson is nothing if not conscientious.

But now he is done. Oh, and how he is done. He had been pulled out of a marathon charting session to help in the ER. Cuddy had requisitioned everyone who was even remotely dispensable. He had even heard House somewhere in one of the cubicles, arguing with a patient. It was surprising that he hadn't managed to hide and avoid Cuddy. But then he remembers that House's whole team has been drafted in – apparently their last case was finished. Cuddy had probably caught House sleeping in his office where House had been waiting for him to get a ride home.

He goes over to triage to check that there are no more rescue people waiting to be seen. Chase sits there laughing with one of the new nurses who seems to be enjoying the attention. The board is clear, so he goes to sign out.

"House still around?"

For some reason, Chase grins at him.

"Yeah, he's in the last cubicle. He's got a guy with a small laceration in there. He should be finished by now."

He waves thanks to Chase and leaves him to continue trying his luck with the nurse.

Not hearing anything from inside the cubicle, he figures House has already dismissed his patient and pulls back the curtain. He is wrong. House has his back to him and doesn't look up from the patient.

"Hey House, you ready to…"

The moment House turns around on his stool, Wilson freezes. House had been closing a tiny wound on the patient's left temple. He swivels around and winks at Wilson.

"Nearly done here, Wilson, only one more stitch."

Not possible.

House would never knowingly accept Tritter as his patient.

Hell, Chase would have never sent him this patient.

But then he remembers Chase's inexplicable grin. He would have. And apparently he did.

This is an accident waiting to happen.

"House, are you sure…"

"Nearly done, nearly done, just one more." House sounds almost cheerful.

What the heck?

Wilson moves a little closer. Tritter has his eyes closed and looks anything but relaxed. In fact he looks like he is in pain. Severe pain.

He takes a look at the wound. Wound is almost an exaggeration. A butterfly would have probably done. One glance at Chase's scrawl on the admittance form tells him what's going on.

_Patient may need stitches. _

"House, are you still not done yet," Tritter grinds out at that moment.

House pulls up and away, cocking his head to one side as if he is admiring some painting.

"I think that's it. I'm done, Detective." He nods at Wilson as if inviting him to check he had done his job. "You'll be fine now. The stitches are dissolvable and will pop out by themselves in about two to three weeks, so no need to call back."

Wilson takes one look at Tritter's face and has to suppress a gasp. He has seen better sutures done by a first year med student. Hell, even his great-aunt Melissa could have done a better job, and she is nearly blind.

Tritter gets up from the exam table, still clearly in pain. His shirt is soaked through and sweat is pouring down his face. Wilson wonders what anesthetic House had administered. If any.

Oh God, this is bad.

Any moment now Tritter will ask for a mirror, and then the shit will hit the fan. House is a dead man.

What on earth had possessed him? And what had possessed Chase to even send Tritter to House in the first place? He should have kept them miles apart.

House chooses this moment to say his goodbyes to his patient. He is calm and polite – nothing like his usual demeanor.

"Unfortunately, I can't give you any more pain meds, you're maxed out. But we go way back so, off the record, I can suggest you get some over the counter stuff on your way home. I won't note any of this down in your chart, you've got my word." House holds his hand up. "And Dr. Wilson here will keep it zipped as well, right?"

Wilson isn't quite sure what he is agreeing to but he has no choice. He just nods.

"Oh, and Detective, due to the anesthetics you won't be allowed to drive for a couple of hours. There's a taxi rank just outside, to the left of the main doors."

There never were any cabs out there in an emergency situation like this. The cabbies hated the long drive out to PPTH. When accidents like this one happened, they all flocked over to Princeton General. House knows this.

Tritter would be waiting for ages.

And it's raining. He will be soaked to his skin in minutes.

To Wilson's great surprise Tritter just nods, wincing as he moves his head.

"Thanks, Dr. House. I appreciate it. You've been nothing but professional. Sorry for doubting you."

There is a white flag in every syllable.

They wait until they can be sure Tritter has not only cleared the ER but also the lobby.

"What the hell, House," it finally bursts out. "I have never in my whole life seen worse sutures than that. You sewed him up like a sack of potatoes!"

House leans back against the exam table, stretches his legs out and grins. He looks very pleased with himself.

"So you noticed my handiwork? It's slightly imprecise because he was fidgeting so much. Just wouldn't hold still. I think maybe that was on account of me only using half the normal dose of lidocaine, though."

Wilson isn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"WHAT? House, are you insane? That man nearly cost you your license. You could've ended up in jail because of him. You shouldn't even go near him. Couldn't you just send him to someone else?"

"But there was nobody else. He was in pain. He didn't want to wait. Besides, the notation on the chart sounded kinda urgent. _May need stitches_. You think I should have just let him sit out there and bleed for who knows how long? I didn't want to risk a lawsuit. The man's a cop after all."

"You're beyond help, House. Once Tritter looks in the mirror, he'll be after you like the devil."

House looks smug. "I don't think so. He'll be too worried about me making a note about drug-seeking behavior in his file. The man's addicted to nicotine. And he's an adrenaline junkie, Wilson. He needs his kicks. I'm thinking he wasn't quite averse to testing his limits today."

There is no point in locking the stable door after the horse has bolted.

"I'm not getting involved in this, House. If this comes back to bite you in the ass, I'm keeping out of it."

They make their way out to the lobby, passing Chase on the way.

House gives him a nod, but says nothing. Chase returns the nod with a satisfied smile on his face and turns back to continue chatting up the nurse.

"Hey, Wilson. Did you know that 'Tritt' means kick in German? Well, I've decided to kick back a little. Let's go and get Chinese and some beers on the way home."


End file.
